Review of Untamed by Glennon Doyle: A Journey Through Self-Discovery
When I picked up Untamed by Glennon Doyle, I was excited to delve into the adventures of a woman who was bravely redefining her life. The premise—Doyle’s transition from a traditional Christian mommy-blogger to embracing her identity as a proud lesbian—sounded refreshing and inspiring. But as I turned each page, I found myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, ultimately leading me to a place of ambivalence.
Doyle invites us into the chaotic world of her thoughts, often oscillating between profound insights and self-indulgent musings. The book opens with a rallying call for women to break free from societal expectations, encouraging us to trust our instincts and embrace our true selves. I was in—hook, line, and sinker—for the first fifty pages. Her writing is personal and raw, drawing us into her journey of self-discovery, touching on motherhood, relationships, and personal empowerment.
Yet, the momentum falters as the narrative intertwines with an overwhelming urge to lecture. Doyle tackles significant issues—motherhood, racism, feminism, and more—but the enthusiasm often morphs into a kind of self-righteousness that can alienate readers. For someone who portrays herself as a voice for the voiceless, I found it ironic that her privilege colored the narrative. Sure, she’s a woman who has experienced her share of struggles, but the contradictions in her accounts left me feeling puzzled. One moment, she champions independence through her parenting choices, while the next, she shares how she rescued her son from the very technology she once dismissed.
What struck me most was a quote reflecting her aversion to phone calls, where she describes her friend calling as “an aggressive action.” It’s a whimsical, almost humorous realization, yet it crystallizes a theme throughout the book: the tension between vulnerability and strength. Here’s a woman, openly discussing her fears, yet seemingly plagued by the trivial. It sometimes felt as if Doyle was riding her own "Struggle Bus," only to invite us along without acknowledging that many of us are on different routes entirely.
Doyle’s prose is vivid and engaging. She flows effortlessly between anecdote and wisdom, but the pacing can feel uneven. This erratic rhythm might leave some readers exhilarated while others, like me, feel overwhelmed by the barrage of sensitivity and insight.
It’s hard to ignore the mixed feelings that Untamed invokes. On one hand, I appreciated Doyle’s candidness and the exploration of identity and womanhood. On the other, her critiques often read like elitist drivel, a commentary on experiences that felt curated rather than authentic. For those seeking an empowering tale of self-realization, this book might resonate deeply, serving as a raw exposition of personal growth. However, it may also frustrate readers looking for genuine relatability—especially if you find fault in a narrative that seems to place her elevated understanding above the rest of us.
In conclusion, Glennon Doyle’s Untamed is a paradox wrapped in unapologetic self-expression. If you’re someone who thrives on eclectic narratives of triumph and self-understanding, you might find a treasure trove of insights within. However, if you’re seeking an unfiltered experience of shared struggle, you might feel a bit estranged amidst the noise of privilege and performative woke-ness. As I close the book, I’m left reflecting on my personal journey, a reminder that we’re all, in our own ways, untamed.